


A PLACE YOU TAKE ME

by strangethetimes



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Reddie, So Many literature references, So Many lyric references, They're both 18, they're runaways, you have no idea how much research I did for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangethetimes/pseuds/strangethetimes
Summary: Eddie’s had enough of his life in Derry and enacts his escape plan with Richie.title credit — Love song by Lana Del Rey





	A PLACE YOU TAKE ME

**Author's Note:**

> originally I was gonna use “Old Money” by LDR as a reference point for this but Norman Fucking Rockwell! came out mid-writing this and “Love song” suckerpunched me in the throat by how much it reminded me of this fic, so……..here we are.  
(personally, I suggest listening to the song on repeat while ya read this)

**The First Day — Worcester, Syracuse, & Cleveland.**

The moon is plastered in the middle of the dark sky and the hollow street chitters with dragging footsteps. Neon street lamps give everyone a fluorescent halo from the shine of their hair, making them look like the angels that they truly are. They had dropped everything just for this. Earlier in the night, before the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Richie called the Losers one by one to tell them that him and Eddie are leaving Derry; they finally can’t take it anymore. Bits and pieces of the deciding moment keep reeling through them both, sitting on the curb outside the arcade and trying to slow the fast _ thump, thump, thump_ing of Eddie’s heart. After that, it’s not a question on whether they’ll stay or not — they can’t.

Despite protests and attempts to sway them otherwise, the rest of the Losers help them pack up Richie’s truck. It’s not like they haven’t mentioned doing this before. Some days, it’s all they talked about; plans of saving up money and running away to Seattle, finding and making their own lives there. They put up too, working whenever they could and saving every penny earned. Eddie secretly got his license and opened up a bank account, mapping out routes to take and places to stop. Richie bought a used truck from his english teacher, a bright yellow pickup with only a couple thousand miles on it. This day has been a long time coming.

Beverly helps Mike shove the last of the boxed up stuff into the flatbed, Stan helps Bill resecure the tonneau cover, and Ben helps Richie screw on the caps of the gallon containers for gas while Eddie organizes the stuff they’ll keep up front with them. When there’s nothing else for them to do but say goodbye, it all sets in. Eddie and Richie will be _ gone_. No one knows who moves first, but they’re stockpiled in a hug within seconds; tears and trembling hands and tries at getting them to stay.

“I love you guys so much.” Bev says, voice breaking as she squeezes Richie tight and clutches Eddie’s hand. She doesn’t want to let go. “I’ll drive to Seattle and kick your sorry asses if you don’t call me every week.” Dispersed chuckles through the sobs, they know she’ll do it too. Richie wants to stay like this, tears running down his cheeks and glasses starting to fog up but with his best friends. His _ only _ friends. This is harder than he thought it would be.

“Wuh-what time do you think yuh-you’ll get to Seattle?” Bill asks, ignoring the way his heart feels like it’s splintering in two — or at least trying. He wants to be happy for them. They’re doing something they’ve always wanted to. Guilt racks his brain every time he prays they’ll change their mind or get caught.

“About four days. Maybe five.” Eddie says.

“With his driving, probably three.” Stan gestures to Richie, whose head pops up at the very tone of his voice. There are words they need to share before he leaves for good. They’ve gotten so close over the years.

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver, Staniel.”

“Sure you are, just like you’re definitely not the person who lit their own shoes on fire.”

“That was _ one _ time!” Richie yells, dropping his head and sighing rather overdramatically. The group slowly breaks apart. Maybe it’s easier if they just pretend they’re sick of group hugs. Maybe it’s easier if they just pretend Seattle is a few minutes away instead of days. Heavy, solemn silence settles between them.

“Are you sure you won’t stay until graduation? It’s only two months from now.” He knows it’s no use, but Ben still tries. He doesn’t need an answer, he already knows. Two months is too long. Two weeks is too long. Two days is too long. Derry is poisoning their souls and Seattle is their metro daydream. Eddie just smiles at him, not bothering to wipe the tears from his glassy eyes. Mike hands him — because, inevitably, Richie would lose it — a stack of papers; they wrote down phone numbers and addresses, as if they’d be forgotten without them. He puts them in the backpack he has on the floor by the passenger’s seat and Richie’s hand is on the door handle but he can’t open it just yet.

“Keep us updated?” Bev says, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

“You’re out of your goddamn minds if you think you’ll be rid of us this easy! Once a Loser, always a Loser, baby. We’ll be dead before we stop being friends.” Richie keeps talking. He can’t stop. “Never free of me and my trashmouth until—”

“Shut up, Tozier.” Stan interrupts with a smile. _ You can go, _ it means. _ We’ll be okay. _More tears race down Richie’s cheeks and he beams, looking at the friends he’s had his entire life and knowing he’s going to have to learn to be without them.

“I love you guys.” Eddie says, climbing into the passenger’s seat while Richie starts the truck. This is so much harder than they thought it would be. But, the life ahead of them calls their names. So, with the cool April air chilling their bones and sobs piercing the quiet street, the Losers watch their friends drive away under the full moon.

The tears last for miles. Holding hands across the center console, the simplest way to say _ I understand _ without saying anything at all. Passing childhood homes and old schools, they’re more sentimental than they thought they’d be. For a moment, a small and fleeting moment, they want to go back. Then they drive by the sign, almost glowing, that says **Now Leaving Derry **and the moment is passed.

⌘

Things feel lighter outside of Maine. Patterns of suburban houses and trees with budding leaves that match hues with the too green grass take up the window views. Sun shining so painfully bright once it rises, reflecting off the bodies of water they pass like sapphires. Richie’s playlist, one of many CDs burned and specifically tailored for weather or moods, plays on the truck’s stereo — this one is classic rock and metal. The audiobooks Eddie has are meant for darker hours, where exhaustion threatens to creep up on them and they need an enthralling story to capture their attention; Shakespeare, Shelley, and Steinbeck at their disposal.

Their hands reach for bags of chips and water bottles, the few food related items they stocked up on for the sake of growling stomachs not turning into more rest stops. Eddie’s eyes capture glimpses of his best friend. Sunglasses lowered on the bridge of his nose, letting the expressions in his eyes project to the world. His denim jacket, years worn in, is covered with even more patches than last week. A cigarette hangs from his bottom lip, the windows cracked to get rid of the smell as much as he can for Eddie’s sake and cool wind whistling through. He looks like a man, not a boy. Not the one Eddie met so long ago. He’s grown into someone entirely of his own.

“Is your bomber jacket in the bag?” Eddie’s hands are ice. Just full-blast heat in this truck, so Richie’s cigarette breaks are the only gush of cool air they get. Though welcome, it can be cold. Not quite summer yet.

“I can roll the windows up.” Richie glances at the ashtray.

“No, you don’t have to.” He grabs the ratty, beat up backpack by his feet and finds the army green jacket to throw over his lilac t-shirt. This one has patches too, but not nearly as many. The smell of cherry and Amaretto clouds his brain when he puts it on. He’s gotten used to the bittersweet aroma. It’s Richie. _ His _Richie, who can argue until blue in the face about the symbolism in The Brothers Karamazov and has a heart too big for his own good (a mouth too). Not the pariah that he seems to be to everyone else, especially not the one his mother makes him out to be. Eddie knows his mother will blame Richie when she realizes they’ve both disappeared. It’s almost enough to make him wish they were there to see her face when she does. Almost.

“‘Bout ten minutes till Worcester.” Richie says, dark eyes flickering toward Eddie then back to the road. His heart stumbles. “You look good in that.” He lowers his voice a bit, almost hoping that he can’t be heard. Eddie looks over to him, grabbing at the jacket as if he’s forgotten it already.

“Oh.” He mumbles. “Thanks.” Richie can almost swear that he sees pink spreading across his cheeks. He can feel it spreading across his own. His mind replays the awkward way their hands unclasped from one another once the crying stopped. It replays the words Stan and Bev told him while they were walking back to his room for more boxes. _ Are you finally going to make a move on Eddie during this trip? _He swats the thought away, worried that his best friend could hear it just from sitting so close.

The gas station in Worcester is full of families on road trips and people commuting to work. Shrieking, giggling children in colorful clothes and tired parents following behind with cups of black coffee. They pile into minivans and the radio plays the Top 40s. Eddie catches a glimpse of a boy who kind of looks like him and something pangs through him. He wonders what his life would have been like if he had a normal family — one that took him on roadtrips, helped instead of hindered, and liked the friends he had. Maybe he’d have been less fucked up. Maybe he wouldn’t be trying to escape his childhood at all. The thoughts burn and blur until he realizes they’re back on the highway, Richie didn’t ask him to switch off.

“Hey, Rich.”

“Yeah?” An absent minded glance, just to acknowledge he’s listening while switching lanes and gesturing for a playlist change. Eddie finds the CD binder and reads out the names. Sexy and Swanky Songs. Break the Hypnosis. Dreary Moons. He eventually decides on Cryptid Cities, something about it is ethereal and full of longing.

“Do you ever think about what it’d be like if you’d had a normal life?”

“Nope. I never would’ve been friends with you and the Losers if I did.”

“I think you would’ve.” Eddie says. He can picture it. “I’d have been a dream child. Still stubborn and antsy but not as bad.” He sees the smirk on Richie’s face when he says it. “In charge of the yearbook committee, maybe in track and field. Friends with Mike, Ben, and Stan since childhood, but I would’ve met you in biology my sophomore year for a partnered project. You would’ve introduced me to Bill and Bev because you would’ve known them since you were little.” He keeps setting the scene. The way they’d clash and explode across the town like fireworks on the Fourth of July. His parents would let him come over whenever he wanted, all he’d have to do is show up at the door.

“You paint me in too good a light, Eds. I’d definitely be the guy from the wrong side of the tracks that corrupts Derry’s favorite angel but they learn to accept it because they’re madly in love. Total _Dirty Dancing_ type of deal.” Richie says, almost taking pride in his alternate universe self for being a bad influence. Eddie rolls his eyes at him, choosing to forget the last part for his own sake.

“You just want to be Johnny Castle.”

“Who _ doesn’t _wanna be Johnny Castle?” Richie grins, trying to ignore the regret in his bones when Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the ‘madly in love’ part of his joke. Laughter fills up the truck, spilling out the cracked open windows and disappearing with the smoke from Richie’s lungs.

⌘

They’re well past Syracuse when it starts to get colder. Richie stops reaching for cigarettes and rolling down windows, the chill is worse than the tingling in his fingers the longer he goes without one. He’s almost too busy talking about eating to notice it, driving Eddie up the wall with every single mention — who won’t say _ I told you so _ after Richie said he wasn’t hungry at their last stop, even though he wants to. The traffic doesn’t help his annoyance.

“Eating is going to feel better than—”

“I’m not even going to let you finish that sentence.” Eddie says, tossing him the binder full of playlists when he reaches across the dash for it. The last thing he needs to hear while stuck in this slow moving line is descriptions of Richie’s near nightly self-entertainment. He hopes he’ll confine himself to the shower while they share motel rooms, maybe forgo it entirely.

“You wound me. I was going to say playing croquet.”

“Hm.” Eddie glances over to see him pouring over each Sharpie-written playlist title and finds a smile wanting to grow. “How many miles to Cleveland?” He doesn’t look up to check the map, he remembers the exit he just saw.

“Little more than fifteen.” Richie frowns, almost frustrated with being unable to find something for the mood he’s decided he feels. Almost one day under their belt. Bright sun and balmy air and the adrenaline of having escaped slowly dying down.

“What about Bob Seger?” Eddie suggests, seeing Richie’s head pop up from the edges of his vision as if coming to a scientific breakthrough.

“Eddie, my love, I could just about kiss you. That’s _ perfect!_” He flips through the sleeves of CDs until he finds the one labeled Killing Werewolves — a pun that he’s sure only he finds funny — and puts it in the player.

“For the love of god, Richie, I’ll punch you right in the face if you do that.” Eddie says, trying to drown out the butterflies in his stomach.

“Puh-leez!” Richie over exaggerates each syllable. “One kiss from me and you’ll never want to even look at another person. I guarantee it.” A smirk pulls at the corners of his lips. He likes to watch Eddie get flustered, no matter how many times he’s been hit in the arm for it. He never noticed how much his flirting made him blush until Stan and Bev pointed it out. Then, he did it more.

“I’ll pass.” He says, cheeks hotter than burning coal. Things go silent, apart from the music, and all there is to pay attention to is the road. The numbers on the exit signs slowly get closer to theirs as the traffic starts to disperse. The distance between them and the city lessens. Richie spies for motels as they drive down the busy streets, shouting to pull over when he finds one advertising thirty-five bucks a night. They check in and bring the two bags they didn’t stow away in the flatbed. Eddie voices the reluctance to share a bed with Richie after they open the door.

“If you wanna spend more for a second one, be my guest.” Richie plops his backpack down onto the left side of the bed and smiles when Eddie drops his there too. They wander the cool streets soon after, fluorescent street lanterns making their shadows stretch and slant. They stumble onto a restaurant that doesn’t sell junk, not thinking twice before going inside and stuffing themselves on comfort food. The Old Arcade is next, filling them with disappointment when it just turns out to be a building known for its pretty architecture and not a hall of videogames. Then the sun disappears from the sky and they’re back in the motel room. Blood rushes to Eddie’s cheeks when Richie peels off all his clothes, save for his underwear. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He looks away, anything else is a better thing to focus on than him. Richie climbs into the bed and under the covers.

“Sleeping?”

“Not without clothes you’re not.”

“Why? Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself?” A shit-eating grin falls upon Richie’s face and Eddie throws a plastic cup in his general direction, still not turning around. “I totally get it, Eds. I’m irresistible, it’s a blessing and a curse.” Another cup. This time, Eddie hears a _ thwack _ against skin. He hopes it’s Richie’s face as he stalks toward the bathroom and turns the shower on. Cold, cold water to soothe the heat that burns in his entire face. _ It’s not a big deal, _he reassures himself. He’s seen Richie in his boxers a hundred times before. There shouldn’t be anything different about it this time. But there is, and his heart won’t let it go. He dries off and gets dressed, getting into bed after Richie flips off the lights.

“One day down.” He says, laying back down and staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“One day down.” Eddie repeats, trying not to think about the clothes strewn across the floor. If it’s really that bad, he can probably sleep in the truck while Richie drives. The thoughts swarm and multiply until exhaustion grabs a hold of him, never crossing his mind that sleeping beside Richie is the safest he’s felt in a long time.

**The Second Day — Cleveland, Chicago, & Minneapolis.**

Eddie wakes up to the sounds of running water and Richie singing under his breath, just loud enough to echo in their room but just quiet enough not to escape it._ Take me out tonight. Take me anywhere, I don't care. _ His voice is low and celestial. _ I don't care, I don't care. And in the darkened underpass, I thought oh God, my chance has come at last. _ How come he’s never sung in front of him before? _ But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask. _The words reverberate in Eddie’s bones; he lays in bed, huddled in the stiff sheets, and listens until the water stops running. Richie walks out with a towel hanging low on his hips, hair dripping water right onto the floor.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.” He says, hands moving to the knot tied around him, as if suddenly worried it will come undone and the towel will fall off. “Can you go snag us some of that complimentary breakfast while I get dressed? We can get gas and shove off after that, get to Chicago at like two something.” His free hand rifles through the backpack he brought in with him, searching for a t-shirt that he’ll inevitably cover up with the denim jacket. Eddie gets up and gets dressed himself, looking over his shoulder to see flashes of Richie’s bare back and the shirt slipping over his head. His legs carry him fast, down the hall and back with plates of crappy muffins and cups of black coffee. At least it’s free.

They eat on the bed, talking of rest stop plans and the strange dream Richie had about being an assassin — Eddie barely pays attention, focusing on the black eyeliner Richie put across his waterline. It makes his eyes look like the spots on a leopard, gorgeous and striking in a way so dangerous. _ He is dangerous, _ Eddie thinks. _ Boys like him are dangerous. _He can’t notice anything else. While they check out and fill up the truck, his mind is on him until the sky cracks with thunder and rain washes the earth. Eddie drives first, letting Richie flip through the audiobooks they brought with them.

“This is the best fucking idea.” He whispers, pressing play for a CD before Eddie can catch a glimpse of the title. He snorts when the narrator reads the title because, of course, Richie can’t pass up the opportunity for a joke. The first line says it all.

_ It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. _

“Gotta admit, Eds, that’s pretty great.”

“You’ve read this book a million times, don’t you get sick of it?”

“No.” Richie says, twisting the volume knob until the sounds of Oceania fill the truck. All Eddie can hear is the song from earlier, the way it fell from Richie’s lips so beautifully. He’s sure that Bev would adore it, the pang of missing her spreading through him. He wonders what she’s doing right now, stuck in class and bored out of her mind. A smile spreads across his face when he realizes he’ll never know that feeling again. Richie notices.

“What’s got you so giddy? Thinking about that time Bill got drunk because he didn’t know my drink was spiked and ended up thinking Stan was his girlfriend?” The memory makes Eddie’s smile widen, images of Stan’s reddened face and Bill passed out on his shoulder. He didn’t live that down for _ weeks. _

“I just remembered that we’d be stuck in history right now if we hadn’t left.”

“Yeah,” Richie laughs, “bored as fuck until I’d drag you into the bathroom stalls and—”

“Shut up, Rich.” Eddie says, a blush going across his cheeks. “I don’t know why you’re so intent on teasing me about that stuff. You know that I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” His heart falters on the way the smile disappears from Richie’s face. _ I like it when you tease me_, he wants to say, _ I wish you’d really do those things. _He doesn’t say another word.

“Why?” Richie looks over at him and marvels, something flickers in his veins. A small hope, maybe…

“What?”

“Why haven’t you kissed anyone yet?” He knows he’s pushing it when he asks, he knows he should probably keep his mouth shut. Eddie gets flustered almost immediately.

“I just—” He stops, glancing over at Richie with a frown. “I don’t have to talk to you about this. I’m _ not _going to talk about this with you.” Frustration resounds in his voice. This isn’t something to be negotiated.

“Sorry.” Richie says. He doesn’t say anything else. Eddie sighs, wanting nothing more than to tell him the truth. He hasn’t kissed anybody because he doesn’t _ want _to, not unless it’s him. But, it scares him. It scares him more than anything he’s experienced before. What if he hated him? What if he never spoke to him again? Eddie’s not sure he could live through it. A life with Richie, even a life full of quiet pining and painful yearning, is something he will never pass up.

⌘

Chicago is an asphalt jungle of car horns and sunshine peeking from behind beautiful buildings. The audiobook is almost two thirds of the way done, each sex scene far longer than Richie remembers. He can hardly breathe through them, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. He almost wishes he’d picked something else, but he changes his mind once they pull into a rest stop and finds himself thrown from the story. He goes to get burgers for himself, as Eddie can’t stomach the idea of eating more greasy food, and thinks about the line they left off on while waiting to order. _ It was more natural to exist from moment to moment, accepting another ten minutes’ life even with the certainty that there was torture at the end of it. _He’s always hated how the story ended.

Eddie finds a payphone hidden in a small booth. The quarter drops a few times from the shaking in his hands — too cold to stay outside for too long. Rain drips down onto his back as he gets the quarter into the payphone and dials Bill’s number. Thankfully, his parents don’t answer first.

“Hey.” He says, almost sounding relieved. “Wuh-where are you guys? Are yuh-you alright?”

“Chicago. And, yeah, we’re okay. Great, actually. We’ve probably got two more days if things keep going well like this.” The rain is cold on his skin, slowly sliding down his back. But, it’s good to finally talk to Bill. “Are you guys doing okay?” Eddie lowers his voice, soft and careful. They’ve never been so far from the Losers before.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Weird, I guh-guess. Richie’s puh-parents went looking for him at all our huh-houses, your mom also.” He lowers his voice too, as if he could be caught talking to him at any moment. “I th-think your mom’s going to the police. None of us have suh-said anything.” No one worries about that. There aren’t more loyal friends than the Losers. Eddie knows that, if it came to it, he’d die for them and they for him.

“Sounds like her. Does anybody else know what happened?”

“Nuh-no. I think they pieced together that you’re buh-both gone though.” Bill pauses. “And that yuh-you’re not coming back. Your parents all suh-said that your rooms are empty.” _ Not coming back. _It’s sweet in Eddie’s heart but bitter on his tongue. He wishes they could have run away with them.

“Thanks, Bill.” He whispers, watching the rain patter against the ground and feels a smile pulling on his lips. “Tell Georgie I said hey, alright? Tell everyone we love them and we’ll call again tomorrow.” The phone clicks dead and it’s back to a world without Derry, he climbs into the passenger’s seat while Richie takes the wheel and presses play on the audiobook. Eddie shuts it off, getting a weird look cast in his direction.

“Got something on your mind there, Eds?”

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” He says, barely making any sound. Richie pauses, his hand on the gear shift slinking back to his side. “I don’t mean that I regret leaving, because I don’t want to go back and I don’t want you to think I do. I just...I guess I’m aware of it. My life there was pretty much straight ahead and I hated how trapped I was, but not knowing what will happen next is…” He trails off, trying to find the words.

“New.” Richie says.

“Yeah.” There’s silence for a while. Richie shuts off the truck and turns toward Eddie, lightning flashes in his head like it does outside. He wants to turn the radio back on and keep driving in silence. He doesn’t want to think about _ what if_’s and unknowns right now.

“I still remember when we made this plan, you know.” Richie breaks the silence. Sadness hums in them as they think about it. Not more than fourteen, almost half a decade ago, sitting in the clubhouse and holding hands. It was before things got strange, before the idea popped into their heads that maybe they could be more than friends, if the other wanted them like that. “It was cold and rainy, you were crying. I don’t remember what your mother said but I remember that it got to you and I wanted to march into the house and scream at her.” Richie’s voice is soft and Eddie shivers, he remembers what his mother said. _ Do you think that Tozier boy will still want to be friends if he finds out what you are? _ The words reel through him. _ Maybe he’s the problem. _ Nausea yanks at his throat and his hand finds Richie’s across the center console, his eyes give away his shock. _ I bet he’s the reason you’re so sick. _

“You almost did.”

“Yeah, until I saw the look on your face when you called after me.” For once, Richie doesn’t want to keep talking. He doesn’t want to tell Eddie that he saw how broken he looked and swore to himself he’d do anything to keep him from feeling that way again. He doesn’t want to tell Eddie that, afterwards, he had to go Stan’s house because he didn’t feel safe alone; he threw his bike on the ground and stood at the door in the pouring rain with tears in his eyes, throwing his arms around him the moment the door swung open and uttering the words _ she’s killing him. _ He doesn’t want to tell Eddie that he couldn’t bear to let him see how much the idea of losing him scared him — how it kept him shivering and sobbing in Stan’s arms, repeating the same thing until it didn’t sound real anymore. _ She’s killing him. She’s killing him. She’s killing him. _

“We made our master plan until the street lamps came on and we had to go home. Then forgot about it for two years.” Eddie says. He was digging through drawers in Richie’s room, trying to make help him clean during one of his bad days, and saw the scribbled down papers. They started working toward it after that.

“I never forgot.” Richie says, his heart beating against his ribs so hard he’s afraid they may break. He wants to change the subject, make a joke and pretend things are okay, but he can’t make himself do it. If Eddie wants to go back, he’d do it for him. He’d watch Sonia scream at him until blue in the face, blaming him for Eddie’s decisions and never letting him see him again. He’d face that wrath and let hell reign down on him if it means Eddie is okay.

“I didn’t know if we’d ever actually get fed up enough to run away but I knew that, if we did, you’d look out me like you always do.” The words make both their hearts swell and a blush goes across Richie’s cheeks. All they can think about is the fact that their hands are clasped together. He squeezes Richie’s hand before letting go, a smile on his face. He knows conversations like this scare him, he’s too scared to talk about how he feels most of the time; usually things have to build up and explode for him to say anything.

“So does that mean—”

“Start the truck, dumbass.” Eddie says.

“Those are the magic words, baby!” Richie hollers, turning the key in the ignition and swerving out of the parking lot. He tries to honk the horn, but Eddie yanks his hand away. “What? I’m just excited. New life and all, you know. We get to choose how we live it.” Somewhere in those words, their hearts splinter.

“How about we just celebrate with George Orwell?” Eddie says, pressing play on the audiobook and leaning his head against the window. Neither of them say a word, listening to the narrator and filled with guilt because the first thing they think of when dreaming about their new life is each other.

⌘

Eddie falls asleep sometime later, hair flattening against the raindrop patterned window and using the denim jacket as a blanket. Richie keeps the music low, a playlist called Slipping & Falling, as Eddie insisted he wait to finish the audiobook, and has the window cracked to let the smell of cigarette smoke escape. The lyrics fill up his chest and tumble out, he can’t help but glance over at Eddie every so often and smile. Quiet snoring and peaceful sleeping, all he wants is to hold him but he pushes the thought away whenever it rears its ugly head. He’s been trying to teach his heart not to want things it can’t have.

Eddie only really slept for an hour, pretending to still be out for the other two just to hear Richie’s singing without worry for embarrassment making him stop. The songs are all bittersweet, the only real indication of what his emotions are most of the time. Something’s eating at him, but Eddie doesn’t know what. He almost gets up when he feels the truck stop.

“Eddie.” Richie says, poking his arm. “Wake up, dipshit.” He rips the jacket off him and shuts the truck off. Eddie glances over, annoyed.

“What?”

“Get out.” He smiles, opening the door and hopping out without further explanation. Eddie knows they couldn’t have reached Minneapolis already. Sure, Richie’s driving is fast but not _ that _fast. He shuts the door behind him to see a diner in front of him, decked out with neon lights and old movie posters. He nearly kisses the concrete parking lot, not eating at the last rest stop filled him with hunger. He nearly kisses Richie, too overwhelmed with joy to question the reaction. They find a booth in the otherwise empty place and order after barely two seconds of looking at the menus with lamination almost peeling off.

“How are you even hungry? You ate like three hours ago.”

“I’m not.” Richie says, pushing his glasses back up from where they fell. “You didn’t wanna eat at the rest stop so I figured you were.” He rests his hands on his chin, trying to hide the pink spreading across his face. He can see the smile on Eddie’s face and knows what it means. It’s the look he always gets when Richie drops the act and reveals he’s actually a sweetheart. “Besides, I can always take some of _ your _food if I change my mind.”

“I’ll break your fucking nose if you take my blueberry waffles, Tozier.”

“Blueberry waffles and a peanut butter milkshake seems like a great meal, I have to say.” Richie grins as Eddie makes a face. To be honest, it does sound pretty questionable but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it anyway. He almost backs down when the waitress brings their stuff, but Eddie offers him the first bite — refusing to share forks — and he does it anyway.

“If you’re gonna puke, aim the other way. I really don’t feel like driving the rest of the way to Minneapolis covered in your barf.” Eddie digs into his food, practically inhaling it.

“First of all, it actually isn’t that bad. And second of all, you’re fuckin’ dreaming if you think I’d let you in that truck if you were covered in barf. I’d probably leave you here.” He says, ignoring the way Eddie shakes his head. “Or I’d make you wash off in the sinks and leave your clothes in a dumpster somewhere.”

“Quit trying to get me out of my pants.”

“I’ll do it one day, Eds. Mark my words.”

“Don’t call me that.” He doesn’t want to respond to anything else. In his head, Richie is beating himself up for saying that. They don’t talk the rest of the meal, getting into the truck and driving off. Richie turns the radio on and mumbles the words to a song under his breath. The rain is gone and the sterile-looking sunset makes him refuse to turn the audiobook back on despite Eddie’s annoyance. It’s only when the sun is gone and the rain comes back does he finally listen. There’s peace until someone swerves in front of them to merge lanes without warning, making Richie slam on the breaks and the horn; his other hand is thrown across Eddie’s chest, keeping him back against the seat. He tries not to think about it, but he’s never seen Richie do it before. He’d tried to prevent him from going through the windshield before realizing it wasn’t a real accident. The thought makes Eddie go still.

“USE YOUR BLINKER, FUCKHEAD!” He shouts, leaning out the window and flipping the driver off. There’s rage thrumming in his head, he punches the steering wheel a few times before Eddie grabs his hand and holds it back.

“Hey.” He says gently, trying to keep his mind off how the skin of Richie’s knuckles is ripped open. He can almost feel his hand trembling. “Rich.” He glances over when he hears his name, sighing and pulling his hand away. Richie doesn’t say anything, but there’s still fury swirling in his blood for the next few miles. Street lamps illuminate his freckled cheeks and the smeared eyeliner that darkens his honey brown eyes. Eddie finds himself wanting to take his hand again. All he can do is reject it and listen to the story.

The last three hours of the trip include finishing 1984, then screams of excitement upon seeing Minneapolis’ exit sign. It’s practically music to their ears when the lock to their motel room clicks open and clicks again once they shut the door behind them. Richie starts stripping and climbs into bed when Eddie starts to shower, already fast asleep once he’s done. He shuts off the lights and gets on his side of the bed, facing away from Richie when he hears him make a noise.

“We’ll be okay.” He mumbles, still dead asleep. Eddie smiles, pulling the blankets over them both and rolling over to face him. _ Yeah, we will, _he thinks before falling asleep.

**The Third Day — Minneapolis, Bismarck, & Billings.**

It’s the same morning routine for Eddie. Hearing the water run while Richie showers and scurrying downstairs to get breakfast for them both, it’s stale pastries and dry cereal. He piles as much as he can onto two plates and heads back up the hall, swiping the card with a relative amount of difficulty. Time nearly stops when he hears Richie singing the same song as yesterday. He can’t place it, but he knows he’s heard it before._ Driving in your car. I never, never want to go home. Because I haven't got one anymore. _ He could stand here and listen to it for hours. _ Take me out tonight. Because I want to see people and I want to see life. _ He wants to stand here and listen to it for hours. _ And if a double-decker bus crashes into us. To die by your side, is such a— _

”Fuck.” Richie hisses, a sudden stop to the singing jolts Eddie back into the present. Maybe he forgot the lyrics. “Goddamn idiot.” Maybe he messed up the tune. Whatever he did, Eddie didn’t notice. He doesn’t really notice anything, until Richie — completely naked — walks out of the bathroom still thinking he’s alone. Eddie nearly drops the plates, shutting his eyes so tight they hurt until he hears the bathroom door slam shut. His face has never turned red so quickly, all he wants to do is scream. “Uh, hey, Eddie?” He sounds low and taut. “Can you hand me the clothes on top of the table?” His body reacts to the words before his mind does, grabbing and shoving the folded up clothes through the crack in the door when Richie opens it. _ How is he supposed to look him in the eyes after this? _

They eat breakfast in silence, sitting on the bed and avoiding each other’s gaze.

They check out of the hotel in silence, signing papers and standing three feet apart.

They ride to the gas station in silence, not bothering to turn on the playlist still left from last night.

They merge onto the turnpike in silence, everything reeling through them.

The image keeps flashing through Eddie’s head no matter how many times he pushes it away. He remembers more each time. A thick, jagged scar down the side of his ribcage from the time he hopped an old fence and it cut him open. Water dripping down the pale skin of his chest. Scattered bruises from restless nights and clumsy falls. A tattoo on the right side of his hip, able to be hidden by the waistband of his jeans. _ Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n. _The black snake baring its teeth, ready to strike at the word fall’n. Eddie wonders when he got it and what it means. He almost feels like he should know it.

“So, when’d you get that tattoo?” He asks, glancing over at Richie, whose eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses. The two erupt with laughter and the awkward silence is gone. They laugh so much that Richie has to pull over, holding the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white. It’s not actually that funny, but their sides still burn by the end. Richie gets back on the road again, sunglasses off and animated as ever.

“Last summer.” He still remembers the day vividly; lying about his age and how the tattoo gun buzzed like angry yellowjackets.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s from Paradise Lost.” Richie says. It’s not surprising. “I know it’s supposed to talk about redeeming yourself after sin, but I don’t really interpret it that way. I like the idea of fixing past mistakes and not letting the bad days drown you for the rest of your life.” He’s talked about this before. The drowning days, that’s what he calls them; when his body feels too heavy to move and trying to breathe makes the air feel like water. “The snake is because of Satan. In that story, he’s not your average depiction of the devil — just a conflicted dude who’s loyal to his friends and who ends up being his own downfall. Not really a hero, not really a villain.” He watches the road, seeing Eddie nod from the corner of his eye.

“You never showed it to me before.” He says.

“I mean, I’ve never really felt the need to take my pants off in front of you before.” _Liar, _he thinks to himself. _Filthy liar._

“I hope you never do.”

“You loved what you saw and you know it.” Richie grins, getting punched in the arm as a response. Things keep humming in his brain. Self-reproach, resentment, and restless. He doesn’t know why he says some of the things he does. There’s a bit of relief when Eddie looks out the window to watch the blurs of open field and passing cars. Soon a blue journal finds its way into his hands and a pen scribbles down the words that wash over him like waves. Richie’s seen it before, always stuffed amongst the books Eddie would carry from class to class. He’s never asked about it, figuring that the stuff in it must be private. And, it is. Eddie finds that every sentence he writes is about Richie and the captured sights from across the center console. His Adam’s apple bobs every so often, sparingly covered in stubble like the rest of his face because he’s been too lazy to shave. The way his lips move, just barely, to mouth the words of the songs; he picked the playlist titled Stolen Glances — something about it is wistful and scared. His curls whip around from the air gushing in from the cracked window, the truck smells like cigarette smoke and the black cherry, tree-shaped air freshener that Eddie made him get. It’s now that he realizes how perfect the playlist is, scrawling down broken poetry about what it'd be like to kiss his best friend and trying not to get caught staring despite how beautiful he looks.

⌘

The truck breaks down, completely out of gas, about an hour away from Bismarck. Eddie sits in the driver’s seat, legs dangling out the side of the open door, while Richie scours the flatbed for the gallon containers of gasoline he’s had prepared in case this happens. Annoyance flickers in Eddie’s hands and jaw.

“How the fuck do you forget to look at the fuel gauge?” He frowns, still writing in the pages of his journal and noticing the heat of the sun beating down on his shoulders. Richie’s peeled off his jacket and draped it over the seat, curls pushed back by the orange bandana tied around his forehead. The muscles in his arms gleam with sweat from pushing the truck to the side of the road. It puts dangerous thoughts in Eddie’s head.

“I just got distracted, okay? I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You never pay attention.” He mutters, bringing his attention back to writing. Richie flicks the lid from the nozzle of the container and unscrews the cap on the gas tank. He brings the empty one with him and puts things in the flatbed back as they were, snapping the tonneau cover back into place and driving off once he’s done. The closest gas station is just a few miles away, a dust-covered shithole truly in the middle of nowhere. It doesn’t look like anything about it has been changed since the 50s. After the tank is full and the container refilled, they both disappear behind the poster-covered glass doors. The air is frigid and refreshing, Eddie wanders the near-empty shelves to look for signs of life and finds none. A loud dinging sound _ almost _ distracts him from the sight of Richie bending over and leaning on the counter, waiting for a cashier to show up. His eyes travel from the patches on his jacket to the waistband of his jeans to the curve of—

“Hey, Eddie.” He calls, looking over his shoulder with a smile on his face and effectively throwing Eddie from his thoughts. It’s a welcome distraction. “Guess what I found.” The smile becomes infected with smugness and he holds up a call bell before slapping it again. A few more taps and a cashier appears, a girl with pink hair who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. That is, until she sees Richie. Her face lights up and she stands up straighter. Jealousy begins to loom in Eddie’s chest. She flirts and laughs more with each joke that Richie makes. The jealousy shifts into anger when Richie seems to flirt back. He knows he shouldn’t care, but he can’t help it. It’s still there, eating away at him, when he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the truck. The tires screech when he speeds off and his hands fumble for the CD binder.

“Woah, hey, you’re driving. Let me do that.” Richie grabs it from him and flips through the pages. “What’re ya in the mood for?” More and more pages, he starts to notice how many there are.

“Black Sabbath.” Eddie says, eyes set on the road that seems to dance from the heat. Richie doesn’t ask, but he knows what metal means — rage and fury. He puts on the playlist called Angry Spaghetti and watches clenched jaws turn to smiles with every passing song. Once they reach Bismarck, they’re talking and laughing like they always do; Eddie goes to get fast food while Richie finds a payphone. He needs to talk to Stan, it hardly takes more than three rings.

“Hello?”

“Staniel!” He shouts, excited and relieved. Two days is a long time apart when he’s used to seeing him every day. He kind of misses being told to shut up all the time, not that he’ll admit it to anybody.

“Richie!” He shouts back, almost more happy than him. “How are you two? Did you pass Minneapolis yet? Holy shit, you’ve got no idea what’s been going on since you left. Eddie’s mom called the fucking cops! Going on about how you must’ve kidnapped him even though the cops said you just ran away. It’s crazy.” His words have no space between them. Richie doesn’t know what to respond to first, not at all surprised that Eddie’s mother called the police. In fact, he anticipated it.

“We’re good, we’re in Bismarck right now.”

“North Dakota?”

“Yeah, a whole lot of nothing compared to Chicago and Cleveland but it’s pretty up here. In like six hours we’ll be in Montana and I’ll finally send the ransom note with a lock of Eddie’s hair. I bet I can get ten grand for his safe return.” Richie jokes, as if he’d ever give him up. Death will come for him before he’d sell Eddie out. “There is something that happened though, it’s pretty funny.”

“Holy shit.” Stan says, “Did you two finally—”

“No! Geez, Staniel, you’ve gotta get a love life of your own. You’re _ way _ too interested in mine. Perhaps Bill still thinks you’re his girlfriend.”

“Fuck off.” His voice is bitter and sarcastic, familiar exasperation. There’s something else there too.

“I mean, I guess it can fit into that category. I got out of the shower this morning and Eddie sort of saw me naked.” Richie’s cheeks still heat up at the thought. Stan’s laughter fills up the end of the line and he can practically picture him — eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back.

“That’s not what I meant by ‘make a move on Eddie.’ I’ve never known any great love story that starts off with Prince Charming accidentally showing the princess his dick.” Laughter is still there, hardly lightening up no matter how hard he seems to be trying. Richie’s eyes roll so far back that he can hear his stepdad tell him they’ll fall out. The reminder that Eddie has, in fact, inadvertently seen his dick. The blushing doesn’t stop.

“I don’t even know if I’m gonna make a move, man.” He admits, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn't planned on it, or even thought of it until Bev and Stan brought it up a few nights ago. “This is all so new and I don’t want to make it more complicated by throwing feelings into it, I’m sure he’s got enough of his own after doing something like this.” He can hear Stan shift into his advice-giving tone of voice, but he tunes out. He glances back at Eddie, swallowed by sun in the spring heat. He can see the necklace he bought him for his birthday peeking out from under the hem of his t-shirt, gold in golden light. He can see the way Derry’s haunting presence has gone missing from his posture, suddenly confident. He can see the smile on his face as he’s walking back to him, the warmth in his gray-blue eyes.

“Earth to Trashmouth!” Stan yells, making Richie jump. “Go after him before he wises up and falls in love with someone else.” He shakes his head.

“He’s not in love with—”

“Talk to you later, dumbass. Call me back when you stop being a pussy.” The line clicks dead and Richie’s greeted by a burger being thrown toward him, catching it despite every clumsy bone in his body. He doesn’t have time to dwell on what Stan said until they’re done eating and back in the truck. Eddie keeps driving down the turnpike and neither one of them talks, lost in their own heads.

⌘

There is so much nothing. Fields and sky and cars, but nothing else for many agonizing hours. It makes arriving in Billings all the more rewarding, even Eddie feels tempted to kiss the motel parking lot the moment he gets out of the truck. Relief continues when they walk in and find that, not only is this the cheapest room they’ve gotten so far, but it’s the cleanest. Subpar pizza and makeshift plates of the cardboard box almost feel insulting to it, but they devour it all the same. Eddie gathers clean clothes and showers for a long while, trying to pretend that images of Richie from this morning aren’t resurfacing in his head until he caves and turns the water ice cold — the thoughts go away after that.

Wrapping the rough towel around his waist, he opens the bathroom door to find him gone. Panic lingers, maybe he’s gotten sick of travelling and left for Derry again. But, he walks out the room door, onto the red-painted wooden walkway above the first floor rooms, and the panic goes away. He’s at the end of it, on the phone and leaning against the railing. The occasional puff of smoke leaves his pink lips; his dark curls are wild and the fluorescent lights illuminate his eyes. He doesn’t notice Eddie staring or walking back into the room, probably talking to Stan or Beverly.

He gets dressed and turns the TV on, a staticky and pixelated channel playing a Law & Order episode about a hit and run. It’s after it ends that he realizes Richie’s still not back and walks out of the room again. He finds him there still, not on the phone but leaning over the rail like before with another cigarette between his two fingers. There are tears running down his cheeks.

“Rich, what’s wrong?” Eddie starts walking toward the end of the walkway and stands next to him. Richie wipes the tears away as if he hasn’t already seen them and shakes his head. He doesn’t break, even after his eyes meet Eddie’s. “I just wanna help. I know you don’t like to talk about shit but if you want to go back then ju—”

“I don’t want to go back, dipshit.” Richie shoves him lightly. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t want to go back.

“Then what’s going on with you?”

“I miss Stan.” He mumbles, waiting for the laugh he’s sure to get. It doesn’t come. He lets loose a sigh. “I miss them all. I didn’t think it would be this hard.” He puts out the cigarette when Eddie leans on the railing too, staring out at the blurs of headlights that sparingly pass.

“I miss them too.” Eddie says. Crickets chirp and voices from the bar across the parking lot carry. He wishes that the rest of the Losers could have come with them, but this has always been his and Richie’s dream, never theirs.

“I’d never regret this, by the way.” Richie’s voice almost startles Eddie, he looks over and smiles softly. “Running away with you is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.” He tries to steady his heart, about ready to burst from his chest. All he can notice are beads of water dripping down fair skin and damp, wavy hair; how water must have slithered down his back like hands trailing down his spine, where those hands could go. Dear god, how far are their lips from touching? What they wouldn’t give to close the gap.

“Richie.” Eddie warns, more for himself than anything else, and leans closer. All he can notice are brown eyes, still blessed by insomnia’s dark circles, and fidgeting hands, unsure of what to do now that they aren’t holding a cigarette. Freckled skin like the sky patterned by stars, he wonders what constellations must hide among his cheeks.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He says, noticing that his hand is already resting on Eddie’s cheek. He shuts his eyes, tilting his head until their lips finally meet. Honey chapstick and stale nicotine, strange clashes that they never thought they’d crave. Eddie’s arms wrap around Richie’s waist, gradually pulling him closer until there’s no space between them. The whole earth feels like it’s in bloom, it’s bittersweet to pull away. Eyes like stormy seas dance up at him, gentle and fearless like the humming in his bones.

“Don’t break my heart.” Eddie whispers, kissing him again.

“Never.” Richie stammers, hardly able to make his voice utter the word. He’s too consumed with the thought that, of the two, Eddie would be the one to break _ his _ heart. But, he doesn’t say it; he looks at his best friend, the boy who’s somehow grown up right before his eyes, and is willing to give him his entire heart anyway.

“You know,” Eddie says, a grin blossoming on his lips, “we are, in fact, at a motel.” He takes his hand, walking back to the room, and Richie’s sure he’s never loved somebody so much. As the lights dim and door locks shut, he’s sure he’ll never love somebody this much again. It’s ethereal and intoxicating. “Got a playlist for this too?” He looks over his shoulder, flipping through the pages of CDs.

“To Just Be Us.” _ Of course_, he has a playlist for this; Eddie shakes his head and puts it into the DVD player once he finds it. The sound isn’t what he expects. It isn’t bold or loud or bawdy, it’s soft and irenic. Suddenly the title makes sense. This playlist is about _ him_. His heart flutters when he feels Richie’s arms wrap around his waist, his lips finding their way to his neck. He turns around and grabs his hand.

“I’ve never done this before, Rich.”

“I haven’t either.” He admits, “We don’t hav—”

“I want to.” Eddie interrupts him, grabbing the bottom of his denim jacket and pulling at it until it slips off his shoulders. Richie holds his breath as it falls to the floor, the intensity of the situation slamming into him like a rainstorm on a tin roof. Everything is slow motion; the way his hands slip slowly up his shirt, cold against his own hot skin, and the electricity prickling in his chest the closer he looms. Everything is full speed; how fervently their lips meet and shirts slip over their heads. Stumbling toward the bed, Eddie’s hands find the belt around Richie’s hips and undoes it. He falls back against the mattress, lifting his hips up to shimmy off his pants and sitting up to toss them toward the bags they brought in with them. He grabs Eddie and pulls him forward, lips trailing from his rib cage to his hip bones. His fingers unbutton and unzip, Eddie steps out of his jeans.

“You’re fucking breathtaking.” Richie says, realizing how much tighter his boxers feel. He _ wants _him. It scares him just how badly. He kisses him as he starts to get into bed with him, both stripping down until nothing can hide the sight of them.

“Shut up, Rich.” Eddie mumbles, breath turning shallow as he feels hands push his knees apart. The weight of Richie’s body all resting on the elbow he uses to prop himself up and his hips stutter against Eddie’s, who wraps a leg around his waist. It’s all lips and teeth and tongue; wandering touches and shaky breaths and whispered names. Richie starts kissing down Eddie’s chest — lower, lower, lower — until his hands are tugging on his curly hair and pushing his head down to take all of him. His back arches up, curses sing in his skin, and the feeling of Richie grabbing his wrist all but sends him over the edge. Eddie’s breath wavers, heart pounding in his chest. He can get used to the sight of Richie’s head bobbing like this, eyes looking up at him so innocently and hair falling into his face. A knot starts to form in his stomach and a moan escapes his lips, Richie doesn’t stop. He yanks on his hair, knuckles turning white. He gasps, the pace slows. He tries to tell him he’s close, but different words tumble out of his mouth when Richie starts to tease him with his tongue.

“Please.” Eddie whines, trying to catch his breath. Richie stops, looking up with an expression in his eyes that could make angels sin; suddenly his tattoo makes more sense. He goes to grab the pair of jeans he has thrown near his bag, going through the pockets until he finds his wallet and takes a condom out from it. His gaze travels, looking for something.

“Do we have—”

“Suitcase.” Eddie says, wrapping the blankets over his shoulders and waiting in the darkness until Richie comes back with a small bottle in his hands and the condom between his teeth. He rips it open and rolls it on with ease, laying against the headboard and pouring baby oil into his hand. Eddie’s fingers twitch while he watches Richie’s hand wrap around himself and stroke, a movement so natural to him. Their eyes find each other and a small smile plays on Richie’s lips, gesturing for Eddie to come closer. He replaces Richie’s hand with his own, watching his head tilt back and shoulders tense.

“Tell me you want me.” Eddie whispers in his ear, moving his hand lazier and lazier to watch him writhe. He kisses him, lips wandering up his jawline and down his neck. His teeth graze his collarbone and a breath gets caught in Richie’s throat. Their skin feels like it’s on fire.

“I want you.” He says, grabbing Eddie’s waist and pulling him close. “I’ve always wanted you.” _I always will, _he wants to add, but gets caught up in Eddie, lowering his hips — painfully, agonizingly slow — until Richie’s buried in him. Neither of them move, holding tight to each other’s hands; eventually, Eddie takes a deep breath and nods. Richie’s hands grab his hips and start to move them, easing him into it.

“Fuck.” Eddie says, fingers digging into Richie’s shoulders. His breath runs from him, always out of reach with every movement. The only thing louder than the pounding of his heart is the searing in his veins — _ Richie, Richie, Richie. _His name replaces all the thoughts in his head, there’s nothing to do but moan it. The sound of it is Richie’s salvation. His eyes find Eddie’s in the dark and his hands keep guiding his hips, faster now; quicker and quicker as new strings of curses come from their lips. The sounds of skin on skin, labored breaths, and whimpers muffled by kisses start to fill the room. Richie wraps his hand around Eddie, moving it up and down. The pace gets thoughtless.

“Eddie, I’m—”

“Me too.” He gasps, grabbing the back of Richie’s head and pulling him into another kiss. A cry comes from Eddie’s throat, his entire body goes still as relief shudders through him. He doesn’t stop moving, moaning the rougher Richie seems to get with him; he’s not far behind, curses slipping between his clenched teeth and forehead resting against Eddie’s sweat-covered chest while his own release paralyzes him. They stay there, catching their breath, and hold one another until exhaustion radiates from their bones.

They shower together, embracing under streams of warm water and finding the places where hickies have begun to form. After drying off, Eddie wears one of Richie’s hoodies and Richie wears nothing. The two fall asleep with their limbs tangled together, so much that they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins; years of pining finally over with, they’ve never slept so peacefully.

**The Fourth Day — Billings, Missoula, & Seattle.**

The room is white gold, with sunlight beaming through the sheer curtains and illuminating the small space. There are signs of last night everywhere. Clothes strewn across the floor and music still lulling softly, they were too tired afterwards to bother with anything other than sleep. Tangled hair, love bitten skin, and lips still slightly swollen; reminders of what they’d done. The two still holding onto one another even in sleep. Eddie wakes up first, warm in his arms and content as he remembers where he is — lying on Richie’s chest. His gaze is set on him, resting so serenely despite the sun dancing on his face. He traces his fingers down the slants and curves of his chest, careful not to wake him. It doesn’t seem to matter.

“Morning.” Richie mumbles, his eyes flutter open and he turns his head to press his lips to Eddie’s. “Should we get going?” He doesn’t move.

“No.” Eddie says. He kisses him again, resting his hand on his cheek. “I don’t want to let this moment go just yet.” They could stay like this for days or weeks or months. They could stay like this forever. The world could flood then burn then flood again, they still wouldn’t want to leave each other’s embrace. It feels like a dream; skin on skin and linen sheets draped across them, the lack of care for their fates so long as they’re together like this. Eddie isn’t sure how long they lay together when Richie gets up to them breakfast, but he knows it isn’t long enough.

They eat on the road and it’s like every other motel’s they’ve been to, the truck is full of conversations about silent pining and missed opportunities. Eddie drives first, letting Richie feed him parts of toaster waffles and donuts because he refuses to take his hands off the wheel. The heavy, looming weight of unacknowledged feelings is off them.

“I’m serious!” Richie says, still looking through the pack of audiobooks to listen to. Something short and hair-raising. Eddie’s laughter fills his chest and he swears he’s drunk off it. “I totally thought that you had a thing for that girl in our chemistry class. I got so jealous that Stan had to talk me out of accidentally cutting her hair during a lab.” More and more laughter, until a look comes across his face and he stops suddenly.

“Stan _ knew_?”

“Oh.” Richie says, still trying to decide on an audiobook. “Yeah, Bev too. I didn’t really mean to tell them but I mean, it’s not like I could talk to you about it. ‘Hey Eddie, I just wanted to ask you what I should do about the fact that I think I’m gay and have a huge crush on you.’ That would’ve been a fucking nightmare.” He shakes his head, rolling the windows down and lighting a cigarette between his teeth. He doesn’t notice Eddie staring at him until he realizes how quiet it’s been. He gives him a look and the CD binder is forgotten.

“How are you just…” Eddie takes a deep breath and abandons that attempt. He abandons the idea altogether. Maybe it’s easier to ignore it. He can’t even say that word, how could he talk about it?

“How am I just what?”

“Richie, I’ll never be as brave as you.”

“What are you talking about?” Richie can almost feel the sadness in Eddie’s bones. He wants to tell him he can pull over, that they can talk about it without the anxiety of navigating. There are tears in his eyes before he can say a word. “Hey, holy shit, what’s wrong? Did I say something?” He touches Eddie’s shoulder and squeezes. It breaks him.

“No.” Eddie says, his voice cracking like glass under a boot. His posture falters and the rest of him with it. Richie doesn’t know why he’s crying until he remembers the look on his face the night they planned their escape. _ He’s scared, _he thinks.

“Eddie, pull over.”

“No.” His voice is unstable and sure at the same time. Richie tries to grab the wheel while getting his hands slapped away.

“EDDIE!”

“NO!” He screams, choking on the sobs in his throat. He’s scared and sad and the happiest he’s ever been, all at once. He pulls to the side of the road and parks the truck, a shudder ripping through him when he feels Richie hug him. Eddie collapses into him, hands trembling and trying to hold him tight enough. The crying doesn’t stop. Birds fly over the golden field beside them and cars race past. The crying still doesn’t stop.

“Talk to me.” Richie damn near begs. “Please.” He says, bringing his lips to Eddie’s forehead and hugging him tighter. The smell of juniper and peppermint floods his senses, it’s intoxicatingly Eddie.

“What if I can’t be what you want?” He cries, voice muffled by Richie’s jacket. Tears blur against his skin and almost burn, the thoughts in his head scare him. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to admit things like that and I don’t want to disappoint you if that’s what you want.” _ He’d die just to make him proud. _

“Admit things like what?

“You said you were...”

“Shit, I did, huh?” He says, as if just realizing he’d said it. Eddie laughs, still shaking in Richie’s arms, and looks up at him. His eyes are still glossy with tears. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that to anyone but Stan or Bev.” He admits.

“How do you do it?”

“They’re words, Eds. You just say them.” He hides a smile when Eddie pulls away and punches him in the arm. He’s got him to stop crying, that’s a victory on its own. “I guess it’s not that hard after what Stan made me do.” The memory warms his heart. He hated him at the time, but he looks back on it fondly now. Eddie just shoots him a curious look and leans in closer to listen. “It was just me and him at the Quarry when I told him. I mean I didn’t really _ tell _him so much as burst into tears and tell him I liked you. Then, he asked if I was gay and I couldn’t even answer him, so he made me stand on the edge of the rocks we jump off and scream it until I wasn’t scared to anymore.”

“I would have killed him.”

“I was tempted.” Richie says. “But, I’m glad he did that. It was easier for me to deal with after I just admitted it to myself. Dancing around the word all the time got tiring.” Eddie takes the keys out of the ignition and climbs out of the truck, walking into the field of gold grass nearby. Richie scrambles to follow him and swarms him with questions.

“Just follow me.” He says, grabbing his hand and walking until the highway is little more than a blur of color. Richie asks questions the entire time, getting answered to shut up whenever he opens his mouth. Eddie stops in the grass when he’s content with the distance and sighs.

“Dude.” Richie catches his breath, shirt damp with sweat from the long walk. “What the _ fuck? _ If I wanted to walk to Seattle I wouldn’t have bought the truck.” He goes to say more, but sees Eddie’s eyes scanning the mountains around them. His fists are clenched and his legs unsteady. He knows why they walked out here. “You don’t have to do this just because you’re worried about what I might think. I want _ you_. I don’t care about—” Eddie raises a hand to shut him up and throws his head back to scream.

“I’M GAY!” He yells. It rushes through the air, full of anger and frustration. It’s full of everything he’s been repressing for years. He screams it again and again and again, each time less angry than the last. Richie just stands there and watches, suddenly understanding how Stan must have felt when he did this. _ Proud. _Eventually the words morph into yells and laughter, Eddie runs to him and kisses him. His arms wrap around his waist and he doesn’t let go.

“Stan’s a mad genius.” Eddie says, grabbing Richie’s hand as they start to walk back toward the truck. The sun is hot on their backs.

“I’ll be sure to tell him just how much I appreciate the walk out here while I thank him.”

⌘

Phone calls are the only thing they care about in Missoula, second to eating. Eddie calls Bill and gets an update on Derry. His mother called the police and got nowhere, apparently an emotional wreck who’s been badmouthing Richie all over town, and Richie’s parents don’t seem acknowledge he’s left at all, denying that he won’t come back. The rest of the Losers miss them, still not used to their absence, but they’re happy as long as they are.

“What’s the official ruling from everybody else?” Eddie asks. People have to have heard what’s going on by now, at least from his mother or the police. Him and Richie have bets on what they’ll think. Bill pauses before answering.

“The ruh-rumor is that you an-and Richie ran away to get muh-married in Vegas.” A blush comes across Eddie’s face and he glances at his feet. Could they even get married in Vegas? _ Would _they ever get married?

“Well, look, about that…” He takes a deep breath and glances at Richie, who’s still in line. “Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gay.”

“I still luh-love you guys.” There’s no hesitation.

“We love you too.” He smiles, more weight lifting off his chest. They only talk for a little while longer, until Richie gets back with the food and insists upon calling Stan. Eddie hands him a few quarters and sits on the bench nearby. This is a conversation just for them. The phone barely rings more than once before Stan answers and Richie already has a smile on his face.

“Hey.” He says, twisting the cord around his finger. “I have something to tell you.”

“Dear fucking god, _ finally_. I was going to scream if you didn’t tell him how you feel.” Stan doesn’t wait for the words, he already knows.

“Okay, yeah, but I didn’t exactly tell him per se.” Richie glances at Eddie and feels the heat rise to his cheeks. “We might’ve had sex.” He lowers his voice, fingers brushing against the purple marks on his neck. The line goes completely silent.

“There’s actually a person on this planet who wants to sleep with you?”

“Hey, when I’m going to deliver, I deliver! You didn’t want some half-assed, awkward confession about my feelings. Instead you get to hear about—”

“I don’t need to know!” Stan says, ready to drown out whatever Richie tries to say to him next. “I love you and I’m proud of you both, but please don’t make me listen to details about how you fucked. I cannot express how much I do not want to hear that.” There’s silence again, this time content. “I really am proud of you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Richie says, grabbing the keys from Eddie when he hands them to him and smiling. They hit the road soon after. Richie still drives and Eddie picks from the playlists, stumbling on one called Derry Summers. The songs are nostalgic and warm, some of them new but fitting enough that he could believe he’s listened to them before. The blue journal finds itself in his hands again, there’s so much to write he doesn’t know where to start.

It’s like this for hours; warm wind, bright sun, and burning through a number of playlists. Richie finds his gaze drifting to Eddie, whose feet are propped up on the dashboard, from behind his sunglasses. Something in him clicks, like in the motel but stronger. He’ll never love anybody the way he loves him. He turns the music down and looks at him, drinking in the feelings that it gives him. Eventually, his eyes go back to the road and a smile blooms across his face.

“Do you want to know when I knew that I love you?” He asks. The words rattle through Eddie and leave him speechless, only able to stare while thoughts race through his head. _ Love_, he thinks. It’s the only word he can focus on. Richie keeps talking, describing a day that Eddie only vaguely remembers. They were all supposed to go to the Quarry to kick off the summer but Richie was sick, stuck in bed, and miserable. Eddie decided to bail on the group and visit him instead. They watched movies and laughed at each other’s stupid jokes,

“There was a moment where we were laughing at something and, I don’t know, it felt different. I realized there wasn’t anything I won’t do for you and it scared me shitless. I couldn’t do anything but drown in it while you kept laughing. I knew right then.” He smiles at the thought, but it wasn’t happy at the time. Eddie’s still speechless as he remembers that was over two years ago. Richie glances over and gets quiet,

“You don’t have to say it, you know. Don’t feel like you have to because I brought it up. I just felt like telling you.” There’s tension in his voice. _ Did he say too much? _

“Pull over.” Eddie finally says. Richie’s head is a hurricane of frustration and regret until he turns the ignition off and feels Eddie grab him by his jacket, pulling him into a kiss. His eyes are like starlight when he pulls away, all Richie can think is that he’s gorgeous. “I love you too.” Richie just smiles, starting the truck back up and driving again.

⌘

Washington takes hours to get to; it’s dark out and the air is cool. They’re ecstatic to finally be in the state, a tired and relieved type of ecstatic that comes with driving for four days straight. Eddie switches off to drive, letting Richie drift in and out of sleep in the passenger’s seat while he goes to find a payphone — there’s something he wants to do and he wants to do it before his courage goes away. His hands twitch when he dials, but he looks back at the truck and sees Richie. Moonlight shines on his face and gives his curly hair a glow, he’s like a luminescent angel. It’s enough.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom.” Eddie says. There’s an explosion of words, he can’t quite catch them all but he knows that she’s angry and he knows that she’s scared. He finds some sort of satisfaction in it, at least she has a taste of what she’s been making him feel for years. She asks barrages of questions; where he is, if he’s okay, then on and on and on. He looks to Richie again.

“I’m in Florida.” He lies. He knows she’d look for him, he doesn’t doubt it for a second.

“Florida?” She sounds ready to have a heart attack. “Eddie, you have to come home now. You can get sick out there without your medicine and you have no idea what it’s like to be on your own.” She spirals into more explanations and excuses. It doesn’t bother him as much now that he isn’t there. It’s almost funny. It’s almost pathetic.

“I’m not on my own.”

“No, of course you’re not. You think I haven’t noticed that the Tozier boy is missing too? His parents are worried sick. Do you know what people are saying about you both?”

“I know what they say.” Eddie says, his voice is firm and steady. Something about it says all she needs to hear, the decision was planned and he’s _ with _ Richie. Two of her worst nightmares — being abandoned and stood up to. She sort of always knew it would happen, it never stopped her from trying to prevent it. For once, the line is silent on the other end.

“Was it his idea?” She sounds cold, as if nothing else can break her.

“No.” He says, glancing at Richie again. “It was mine.” He hangs up, limbs a wobbling mess and heart thrumming in his chest. He’s wanted to do that for a long time. Climbing back into the truck, he almost wakes Richie up to tell him but he sees the small smile on his face and refrains. Only two more hours to Seattle. He picks out a playlist specifically for the occasion, appropriately called Seattle. The first song makes Eddie slap the dashboard, trying to get his words out fast enough, it wakes Richie up.

“This is the song you keep singing!” He shouts. Richie’s cheeks turn red and he sits up.

“You heard that?”

“Can you sing it again?” Eddie asks, watching the street lanterns flash across his face as he tries to come to a decision.

“Sure.” He restarts the song and sings. Eddie listens, cool wind in his hair and warmth in his heart. He could live in this moment forever. The lyrics don’t hurt the way they used to, headlights shine as bright as the stars, and they’re almost there. He almost doesn’t notice when the song ends.

“You sound beautiful.” He says, grabbing his hand across the console.

“_You’re _ beautiful.” Richie smiles, bringing Eddie’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. They stay like this for the rest of the way, until the exit sign for Seattle passes by and adrenaline pumps in their veins. Each mile is like a step closer to reclamation. The plans they’ve made over the years start to flicker in their heads; long work shifts and exhausted bones, mapping routes and planning stops, secret licenses and buying the truck. It’s nothing but drum solos in their chests and restless hands. The first view of Seattle is full of fluorescent lights and skyscrapers. Cheers and screams and curses erupt from them both.

They find a hotel and pull into the parking lot, taking all of their bags this time. Richie grabs three different newspapers from the lobby after booking a room with a kitchenette for an entire week and folds them under his arm to help Eddie lug their stuff into the elevator. Everything is surreal; walking into the room, pale blue walls with paintings hanging up, and putting the keys to the truck somewhere far from the door. It doesn’t take long to unpack, a feeling of fulfillment comes with each bag emptied and stored away.

Then, when it’s all said and done, they sit at the table and spread newspapers across the top of it. Under a glowing, yellow light, Richie and Eddie go through apartment listings and highlight the street names that sound like home.


End file.
